


Freelance Vigilante

by Northaeven (Colercw)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, F/F, Gen, Journalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colercw/pseuds/Northaeven
Summary: When the news becomes a tool for curuption, who better to serve as the hero of Crystalhill than freelance journalist Alicia Powell. Join her as she and her friends take on criminals and fight corruption, without the use of capes.





	

The wind wisped through my hair, making it almost impossible not to grab for my jacket and pull it around tighter. But doing so would obstruct the picture, and in my line of work, quality lands more money than quantity. I'm not in it for the money, though. If I was I would have taken a job in a much warmer climate, where supermodels were my subjects, not a warehouse in the middle of the night. The warehouse in question belongs to Kenneth Allen, middle class kid turned high class arms dealer. He and his family make up one of the five families. 

The five families rule Crystalhill with unsurpassed power, money, and influence. Twelve years ago they used it to institute a media black out. No more news, no more stories, just carefully crafted fluff peices and propaganda films. For most it just became the status quo, but I saw first hand its damage. 

My father was killed on duty when I was ten , twelve years ago, coincidence, maybe. But I think there is more to the story.

I take five pictures in all before I endeavor to walk back down twenty flights of stairs to the lobby. The building I was in offered a nice view of Kenneth's operations, but I would have to wait a couple days for my big score. A shipment was due to arrive and with it, I would have conclusive evidence, enough for my contact at the N.B.I, National Bureau of Inquiry to start an investigation. Until then I had to wait.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty house, nothing unusual. My mother works infectious disease. She's been a doctor for most of my life, so I got used to the late night phone calls, emergencies, the perks. After breakfast, I grabbed my camera and left.

My mom lives by the docks, close to the warehouse, making it a convenient squatting location from time to time. I own an apartment, on the other hand, closer to the city,and more importantly closer to my favorite coffe shop 'Brewies' . The drive isn't too long, and by the time I get to my place it was lunch time. I grabbed my laptop and went over to Brewies.

Brewies lives in a strip mall a couple blocks away from my place. It was home to my favorite drink and free WiFi. I sat at my table and waited for Monica to come by with my drink of choice, a cold brew lemonade. 

"Alicia, its been almost three days we were starting to get worried" 

I had known Monica and her husband Travis for most of my life. Monica and I were best friends in highschool and Travis' father was my father's partner. For obvious reasons, I keep my line of work confidential, but by now I know they had to suspect I was into something. 

"I had to do some work out of town"

"Anything I heard of "

"It wasn't the Times, or anything, just a couple pieces on Avalon and the Avengers, rockband of the twenty first century"

"I still don't understand, why you bother with journalism. You have a good mind. You could be a cop or a private investigator"

"I enjoy the peace, that what news is supposed to be, all about the good"

Monica didn't look convinced and went back to her station at the front.

I take a couple sips before I take out my laptop and log into my VPN. According to my ISP I'm in New Zealand, and free from internet restrictions. I go through my photos one by one, checking their quality, before I place them into an encrypted save file online. I take another sip then I go through my notes. I have files on all of the families, but haven't been able to get close until I got a tip. 

The tip came from a message board. It was just one photo, but it grabbed the attention of the N.B.I, not enough to start a full investigation, but enough for my contact to get in touch.

I connected Kenneth's operation to the warehouse via some careful sleuthing, but had yet to have a picture of him with the weapons. I needed visual confirmation. By checking shipping manifests I gathered that a shipment was going to be received and that that would be my best opportunity. The shipment was arriving tonight, but unlike most places the docks are busiest at night, so if you are going to do something illegal, early morning would be the best. I time my file on Kenneth to go public at five am, just in c ase. If five am were to come around and I was indisposed for whatever reason, the information would still reach my contact. It wouldn't be enough, but It at least it would be out there, for someone to connect the dots.

Before leaving, I check the forums for new leads and commissions. After that, I take my time, finish my drink, pay and head home.

I take the take the rest of the day, doing my day job, and write a piece about a firefighter, catching a dog that jumped out of a burning building. This miracle was slated to run in the Trailfare, a local wildlife publication

At eight pm, I started to pack up. I check my equipment, and then donned a disguise. For the docks, I put on a black shirt and slacks, before throwing on an oversized jacket and well worn, woolen, scull cap. Fingerless gloves sold the look. I grabbed my camera, and laptop before heading to my car. 

I went to the roof that I used to survey the day before and took pictures of all the players, before getting into position by the loading bay. At around ten, a truck pulled in. I took a shot of the licence plate and the drivers. As predicted the car sat there for a while until most of the people vacated the lot. I left then, made a quick wardrobe change, going all black, shedding my jacket and cap for my converses, t-shirt, and slacks. 

At one o'clock a black suv pulled up and the doors to the warehouse opened. Out of the SUV walked one Kenneth Allen dressed in a suit. Before the guns moved into the warehouse he looked at each one of them, appraising them. That's all I needed. 

I set up a meeting for the for the next day with my contact at the N.B.I. 

Eight A.M., Brewies, In walks N.B.I agent Elena Anderson. One of the best, and also one of my exes.

"Alicia, do you have the file"

"Yes"

I handed it over.

Something was off though, I could tell. She had that look, like a dog that did something naughty while its owner was at work. Then she pushed her hair behind her ears. That was her nervous tell.

"Elena, is there something wrong"

"Alicia…" Her head dipped for a second before it snapped back up, complete with her serious face. "Alicia Powell, you are under arrest".


End file.
